Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: fast food

Desperately Posting

…as A Certain Person accused me of doing. Well, desperation is never far away. But I owe you a


–$25 in winning lottery tickets from the Birdman. It seemed appropriate to spend lottery winnings on alcohol, which was consumed long ago. Of course, now I have other alcohol, to observe what they insist on calling the “4th of July holiday weekend,” in spite of its occurrence on Tuesday, which is not even near a weekend.

I also got gift cards for Walgreens and Visa, which I have already spent, and hope to remember what I spent them on once I sober up. It wasn’t more alcohol, though.

$150+ from people at work paying me to go away! This requires some thought. I once dreamed I got 3 roses tattooed on my butt. That might be a wise investment for these funds. Perhaps I should take a poll.

Speaking of which, in my estimation, a tattoo’s workmanship and originality count for naught if it is also ugly. I saw a woman with an elephant’s head with ram’s horns, impaled on a stick, tattooed on her arm. I picture her talking to the artist–“I want an elephant head with ram’s horns on my arm. It has great significance in my life.”

Do not get a nose ring that looks like a drop of snot hanging out in profile. In fact, do not get a nose ring at all. What if you sneeze? GROSS. I am now retired and don’t have to care if you think my disapproval old-fashioned. Speaking of which, I saw an ad for leggings that said, “You’ll never wear real pants again!” See, even the MAKERS OF LEGGINGS admit they’re not really pants.

McDonald’s yesterday was full of hipsters. They even ordered hipster stuff like a McFrappe (or whatever they call them) with just a large order of fries for lunch. It looked like a McDonald’s commercial, except that their clothes didn’t fit as well.

CVS ad–“Long Live Skin!” It’s guaranteed for 2 weeks after death, you know. (That was a sign at the place where I got my tattoo, many long years ago.)

Nick has offered to let me live in his basement. He seems to think it would bring him good luck.

Look, Nick’s on TV!

–Rom said he thought Mark Wahlberg wasn’t yanking the chain hard enough, but then said, “Well, then he might choke the poor thing.” The poor thing in question has actually gotten somewhat bigger since then, so the ears don’t look so prominent, and the barbs on the tail had not yet developed. And no, I can’t move the video closer to the top of the post, and in fact, for all I know, it might not even play once I hit “Publish.”


–Trying to guess which people belong to which vehicle: The pickup with Browning Buckmark logo (designed by my brother-in-law!) and “REDNECK” across the back windshield? Probably the guy with the t-shirt that says “Her Buck” on it. Probably not the skinny guy with long blonde hair, Indiana Jones hat, and tie-dye Allman Brothers t-shirt, although I bet he’s a redneck also.

–A couple snuck in the back door of McDonald’s with food from somewhere else, including chips and drinks, and settled down to eat it at a back table. They even grabbed a bunch of McDonald’s napkins.

–Kids’ lives are filled with nagging. “Is that yours? No? Then don’t grab for it.” “Don’t do that, it’s gross.” After all, how else will you learn what’s gross? There might be another culture in which licking the condensation off the outside of your drink cup is perfectly acceptable.

A CAN OF BABY CORN WAS SIGHTED IN A CERTAIN PERSON’S LOCKER. THE CONSPIRACY LIVES ON IN MY ABSENCE. See ancient posts tagged “Conspiracy News” for details. Don’t know how to look those up? Neither do I.

Day 26.1: Marvel of the Modern World

I was off today, but I just have to post anyway (I’m in danger of developing good work habits!) to tell you that I had not yet witnessed the McDonald’s remodeling in its entirety. Now it’s even more 1959 by way of 1974 (with music from 1987–R.E.M.’s “Finest Worksong”–excellent!). The brightly-patterned wall coverings! The woodgrain vertical-slatted dividers! The fine large window with an expanded view of the drive-through, with CVS looming grandly in the distance! It is a wonder to behold.

While I awaited my order (Lenten Friday fish) (no tartar sauce, because tartar sauce is just mayo with boogers in it), the manager, a woman recently-promoted, was telling a subordinate, “Now don’t sing to yourself while you’re out there.” Seriously? Yes, she was dead serious. MIcro-manage much? Yeah, customers in the drive-through are always complaining, “That employee picking litter off the lot was singing again.” It made me want to burst into song right then and there. Hey, maybe that could become a lucrative second career! The world needs a female Lou Reed.


Day 30: The Final Countdown

(You should say that like they do in the song by the same name.)

Somebody asked, “Are you counting the days till retirement?” I realized I was not, and a person such as myself certainly should be doing so. But I’m not counting down how many days are left in my employment, since I have vacations in the next 2 months, but how many days of actual work are involved. Hopefully, having to report back each day will ensure semi-regular posting (and drinking during vacations will probably ensure the rest).



“Caller at business hired a homeless subject to hold a sign, and he is now threatening them.” You know, you would think holding a sign would require the least vetting of any job.

“Suspect said he’s been tased before and knows to wear extra layers of clothing, also he could pull the darts out and run fast.” Let’s test that theory, shall we? One more reason to plan my outfits in advance!

“Subject states he is military police and has more power than the police.” Let’s test that theory, too!

“I got whiskey poured in my eye and I can’t see.” Well, I got Boone’s Farm wine poured down the front of my shirt once. The guy then tried to clean it up with his tongue. I should have told my caller that.

Officer’s comment on traffic stop: “You can’t be driving on a suspended license in a car covered in blood.” It turned out to be fake blood, but that only makes it more puzzling.


McDonalds at St Joe/Maryland has been remodeled. I was wondering if they’d go for the slick gray cyberpunk look of the one at Lloyd/Rosenberger, but no. It looks like what we thought looked modern in 1959, but in a 70’s color scheme. If I get dementia, they could just set me down there and I’d feel right at home, although I wouldn’t be sure exactly which past decade I was in.

McDonald’s is the place everyone ends up at eventually, so it’s like Life’s Rich Pageant in there–mostly Norman Rockwell, but with a few fringe elements. (I suppose I’d qualify as a Fringe Element, but only on close inspection, and I don’t invite close inspection.) When I last went there, there was a crowd at the counter, and an old guy apparently having some kind of medical episode, so I didn’t anticipate getting my order taken any time soon, and went to Taco Bell across the street instead. (I usually prefer Taco John’s for my infrequent Mexican food urges, but they’re farther down the street, and it was starting to rain.)

The clientele at Taco Bell tends to be younger and more redneck, and the music being played was appropriate. Weirdly, though, it was appropriate for when I was younger. Not that I would have heard it at a fast-food place–businesses didn’t pander to youthful tastes in those days–but I would have heard it blaring from passing cars as I walked down the street in my halter top and bell-bottom jeans. The Stones’ “It’s Only Rock & Roll.” “Dreams I’ll Never See” by Molly Hatchett. (I had to Google that, not having thought of that song for all the intervening years.) Then I thought–I know those opening chords very well–Blue Oyster Cult’s “In Thee,” which I’ve never heard when I’m out. Maybe I should go to Taco Bell more often.



“Now you’ll have lots of time for that ridealong!”

must think fast…“He’d probably just refuse, out of spite.”

“No, I think he’d probably accept–out of spite!”

Good thing he’s only imaginary.



This new radio system sounds like it’s recording what I say, even when I’m not on the phone or air. But that couldn’t be true, could it?





Free Fries and Free Time

“My emergency is that my girlfriend passed out drunk and I need someone to talk to, so that’s gonna be you.” In vain to explain to a drunk that 911 does not provide conversational services to the last one left conscious. He then called back and said, “She woke up and put her hands on me!” Officers arrived and determined no hands were placed on anyone.


Efforts are now underway to tame Nick via sleep deprivation, although this tactic is controversial, and considered inhumane by some. Results are inconclusive at this point, but he has already lost all sense of time, and possibly his sense of humor.


Speaking of losing track of time….

I awoke from my post-church nap and thought, “Good, there’s no reason to get up right now.” Until I eventually thought, “Wait a minute, I was scheduled to work fire my last day this week, and I certainly didn’t last night, so that must mean….” This train of thought (once it finally arrived at the station) led to getting up and putting clothes back on. Not that the long T-shirt I wore to bed wasn’t perfectly presentable.

Speaking of the length of my garments, I still have a dog bite on my leg. I can’t wear anything short, lest people think I tried to outrun a police K9, a course of action I cannot recommend.


McDonald’s Monopoly is underway again! (YES, I FIND THIS EXCITING,  SHUT UP.) I remember when it was first introduced back in the 70’s, at a time in my life when free fries were a meaningful part of my diet. (But to put that in perspective, my rented room was $25/week.) (Shared a bathroom and kitchen with 2 other people, one of whom was an alcoholic who once defecated on the floor in front of the toilet.)

I forgot to relate this story from last year’s Monopoly {“So why are you bothering now?” they inquire querulously}–I duly bought my fish sandwich, consumed it, threw the box away, THEN REMEMBERED–I didn’t remove my game piece! Sure, it was probably a dud, but SUPPOSE IT WAS THE ONE? Since financial independence and/or free fries were at stake, I ended up rummaging through the trash, (looking guiltily around, although what was I planning to do if I had been observed? “Oh, I dropped my wedding ring in here. No, you don’t have to help me look.”) and found the glorious FREE FRIES bit of paper. Anyway, I am currently in possession of a free smoothie ticket, which I shall redeem tomorrow, if it doesn’t fall out of my billfold in the interim. And no, I don’t have to work tomorrow, why do you ask?

What I Did On My Vacation

…other than getting bitten by a dog, of course. That’s more of an adventure than I usually want to have.


This actually took place before the dog-bite episode, but the latter kind of drove it out of my mind.

I was sitting near the back door, eating and minding my own business (eating fish, in all likelihood, it still being Lent), when a scruffy-looking guy wearing Carhartt-type overalls and nothing else came charging in. He stomped over to a table where an elderly couple was eating and yelled, “DON’T YOU KNOW WHY WE HAVE *$@%! REAR-VIEW MIRRORS?!! YOU ALMOST HIT A HOMELESS PERSON!” {I suspect he meant himself.} Pointing at elderly man–“F@CK YOU!” Pointing at elderly woman–“AND F@CK YOU! GO KILL YOURSELVES!!!” He then charged back out the door. A moment later, apparently unsatisfied with his previous performance, he came back in again and addressed the room at large. “DO YOU SEE THOSE PEOPLE? THEY ALMOST HIT 2 HOMELESS PEOPLE IN THE PARKING LOT!! WHY DO YOU THINK WE HAVE REAR-VIEW MIRRORS?! F@CK THEM!! THEY SHOULD KILL THEMSELVES!!” Having delivered himself of this speech, he left again. (Suicide note: “Dear world, I’m killing myself because some guy at lunch told me I should.”)

Once he was safely gone, a young man came over to the old couple, asked them if they were OK, said that the guy should have respected his elders (you know you’re old when someone says that to you), and said, “My dad over there was getting his knife out!” (Situation ESCALATE in 3…2…1…) There followed intense discussion about whether management was going to call the police. I waited breathlessly for the police to arrive, but they never did, so I guess the answer was no. The manager did mention that wearing overalls and no shirt still qualifies as No Shirt, No Service. I hate to think of what that guy would have done if he’d been refused service on top of nearly being killed in the parking lot.

Day 17: They Are the Schneesmen

I got a catalog from The Wisconsin Cheeseman. I am the Cheeseman, they are the Cheesemen….But my favorite catalog name is “Schnee’s from Bozeman, Montana,” which sounds like a Monty Python skit.

Most of the Christmas lights I’ve seen so far have been the boring all-white kind. Come on, West Side–quit trying to look like Newburgh!


I won’t get into the dream, except that it involved going to the movies with Stephen Colbert. But I was trying to figure out which jewelry to wear, so I dumped it out on the floor (not my usual method of deciding, by the way), and was sitting in the midst of it, sorting it out. Rom was watching me, and I said, “I look like a dragon on its hoard, don’t I?” He answered, “Quite a bit.” I told him about the dream just now, and he said, “I think you’d like to have a hoard.”


Officer on radio: “Call the Walmart Neighborhood market and let them know we found two of their stolen mobility scooters, and we’ll be, um, riding them back there.” I hope someone got a picture of that.

S.G.’S 17TH POST, 4/17/13: Forgive Me, FanBase

–I apologize for not posting for a week and a half, and note that the wrapper for my Subway peanut butter cookie says, “May contain peanuts.”

Tomorrow’s post will observe St. Nicholas Day, so if you’re not Nick, feel free to ignore it.

Day 16: Unrelieved Complaining

S.G.’S 16TH POST, 3/31/13–Holy Week: Easter Vigil

–I complain about traffic.

–I complain about littering.

–Hardee’s current slogan about eating like you mean it was newly introduced.


Why must there be an inflatable Santa down the street from my house? Those things are ugly when inflated, and even uglier when flaccid.

Don’t Leave Syrupy Trays

…as the saying goes.

I will finish the latest adventure of Nick, because the subject of same has given up hope of it ever being finished, but is too proud to beg. Oddly, for once it hasn’t been delayed because I couldn’t think of an ending. I thought of it as soon as I got into bed after writing the first part. But, since nothing will get me back out of bed except the need to pee, it fell by the wayside.


Yesterday, I did the tiniest and most obscure good deed ever.

McDonald’s now serves breakfast all day (all hail them!). I don’t use much syrup on pancakes, but I do use some. When emptying my tray into the trash the other day, the syrup container tipped over and spilled all over the tray. I thought, That is going to be a difficult cleanup for whosever job it is. So, yesterday I made sure to first drop the little syrup thing into the trash, and then dump the rest of it in. Of course, no one will ever notice, “Hey! There’s one less syrupy tray than there was yesterday!” But it’s still The Right Thing To Do. DON’T LEAVE SYRUPY TRAYS.

…In a world of too many Christmas inflatables, do we need Halloween inflatables? (This question is rhetorical. You know the answer.)…

Lest you think I am a bastion of virtue, something I said at work tonight was deemed a “jewel of sarcasm” by a colleague. As the saying goes, being good at sarcasm is like being good at torture (quite a bit like it, when you think about it). Everyone notices it but no one admires it. YES, I SAID THAT IN A PREVIOUS POST, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?


I haven’t had to use that title since, I think, the mid-90’s. But these are difficult times. The City Council said the administration has to come up with even more spending cuts. I know! Make the dispatchers bring their own toilet paper! You know, one way or another, property taxes are paying for my paper towels, so I don’t quite see the point of all this.


Better Living Through Advertising

While zeroing in on a coupon for the toilet paper we use, I noted that the accompanying ad said something like “Now With Design That Gives the Best Clean!” Now, I was not aware that the designs on toilet paper served more than a decorative purpose. But now that I do know, I’ll be looking out for the best one! It currently has roses and hearts on it. I’m proud that my favorite flowers are featured even on my toilet paper, but I will not let the roses in my yard know about it, since they are thorny and temperamental.


…because you gotta read something.

“Our latest McCafe treat, with mocha and a hint of coffee!” Call me a dumbass (Nick backs away, shaking his head), but I thought mocha was coffee.

The fine print at the bottom of said placemat said, “Summer Disrupter 2015.” That seems an odd choice of words. “Disrupt your summer–buy some lemonade!”


We really do.

From Nikki the Tragically Hip–“Cuss me out if it’ll make you feel better, but you still can’t report something stolen that isn’t yours.”

I request that you not cuss me out if it’ll make you feel better. Being someone’s venting target quickly becomes tiresome. For instance, I did not make this county’s unreasonably liberal fireworks laws.

–“There’s someone sitting on my neighbor’s back porch with a bicycle and a black cape.” Can’t Batman get a day off?

The thought occurs–what is the function of superheroes’ capes, anyway? I don’t think Batman can fly, and I believe Superman could fly even if he didn’t have a cape.

When I first got to work, I kept thinking I felt something crawling around under my shirt. But you tell yourself you’re  imagining it, or that it’s just a loose hair, UNTIL A GREEN BEETLE MAKES ITS APPEARANCE. This caused me to let out a small “yip” on the phone. Luckily, it was a butt dial (words I never thought I’d say–“Luckily, it was a butt dial”), so I spared someone from calling 911 and hearing the 911 operator scream. “IT’S COMING FROM INSIDE MY SHIRT!” “I thought I had an emergency, but take all the time with that beetle you need.”

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